


Brothers

by ledastrevas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), Incest, M/M, Wow my first work, i hope it doesn't suck, this work is full of incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledastrevas/pseuds/ledastrevas
Summary: But after all, tell me: who is this whom you so intimately call brother?
Relationships: America/Canada (Hetalia), China/Japan (Hetalia), North Italy/Seborga/South Italy (Hetalia), North Italy/South Italy (Hetalia), Portugal/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 77





	1. Japan

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language so.... Yep  
> G**gle keep translating "he" to "she" and "his" to "her" wtf 
> 
> Hope you like it <3

"He's not my brother." Kiku answered, as automatically as every time.

How could him be Yao's brother? If every time he looked at him, something inside him writhed?

Kiku was not an idiot. It was hundreds of years old, after all. All the cartoons, manga, movies he made, they all made it clear what that funny feeling on the edge of his stomach was. His fingers itched to touch him, the soft hair, the cold face, the scarred body…

(Ah, some of them he had made himself. Looking at the largest one that crossed his back made him yearn – no, leave the past in the past.)

A smile lit up his face, watching the chinese complain of being a workaholic and not eating right while making one of his characteristic huge dishes, smell of food and Yao bringing him the feeling of love.

(While rambling, he didn't notice that the older man saw their silly looks and smiles, losing the way he blushed and murmured happily.)

They had a large family, which even politically separated, were still practically hip-linked with each other. But Japan didn't want to be a brother of China anymore.

"He's something more than that. And he's likely to remain, even if I'm not the same to him." He whispered, his eyes shining with passion for Yao, who smiled fondly at him.


	2. America

"Brother? Which one?" He joked with an amused wink as the twin, Canada, lowered his shoulders and shook his head.

How could he forget his "best first"? (Because there are the bad first ones too).

His first brother. First friend. First confidant. First partner. First kiss. First ... Well. Several firsts.

But most of all, they were brothers.

Alfred couldn't sneeze, and there he was, bringing his piles of hamburgers, medicine, and a prepared scolding, their favorite TV series in a marathon until he felt well again.

Matthew could not make a face of discomfort, and there the hero would save him, whether from meetings, forgotten english, bad food, very loving french or a russian with no sense of personal space and communist.

And even though they were brothers, "super best bros", they also felt that they needed to get out of the paper a bit.

The first time, it was a curiosity. In the second, tension. In the third, accident. On the fourth, and onwards, a mutually silent agreement, followed by kisses, caresses, skin to skin.

Arthur had no idea what happened sometimes under his nose (to a pirate, he was pretty dense, they thought), but Francis sure knew (never underestimate the radar of the love of France), the complicit smiles he sent to drag the english at times not appropriate for visits.

"I couldn't have wished for a better one." He whispered, his fingers softly intertwining with his, a blush painting both of them with loving smiles.


	3. Seborga

"Brothers…" reflected the italian, a little thoughtfully.

What could Romeo answer when he didn't even know it? He often met with the Vatican in the churches, kneeling and staring at the stained glass until his knees were sore, an inner mess he wanted to escape.

What would it be like if everything in that house changed overnight? While Phoebus reigned in the sky, Feliciano was that sweet Italian, who painted, cooked and smiled, smiles that could win the hardest heart. Lovino was… Lovino, the fumbling, grumpy, strong-tempered man who took care of people in his own complex way.

But when Diana pulled the moon into place, everything seemed to be reversing. Feliciano was a lover, his delicate hands delicately tracing each piece of skin, dilated pupils as if he saw the most beautiful work of art, passionate kisses that drunk. Lovino was shy, with flushed cheeks, delicate hands that pulled against him, sculptural body of a roman god, affection in his rare smiles. And Romeo, in love, touched them and gave them all he had, with passion, lust and intensity, satisfaction only happening as they filled the house with the three different voices, who cried, adored, asked, screamed.

And when Aurora opened the heavens for the sun to pass, the confusion would beat again. Each returned to their role, the sweet Feliciano, the sulky Lovino, and the confused Romeo. It was wrong, deadly wrong, to get so intimately involved with his brothers. What would happen if they were discovered? The last thing he wanted was to be punished, mostly separated again. The three were Italy, the three were lovers, the three were one. And even if nothing happened, could they still be called brothers?

Sharing his thoughts, water in the green eyes, on his right saw Feliciano reach out and hug him, smiling as Lovino, in the left, kissed his head and ran a hand through his hair. The answer he found brought him no less confusion, but relief and calm in his chest, the older one giving a long kiss to himself and his brother, starting another sinful night, but the most loving one he ever had.

"It's my brothers, with whom I have such a strong bond of love that no one else can explain." He smiled, his eyes shining as they met theirs.


	4. Spain

"Brother? Where?" His green eyes searched around.

True, he and Afonso hadn't had a good relationship there in the past (the centuries at war, the scars of clashes and painful memories were there somewhere), but he was one of the few who even witnessed the fall of the "Empire of the Rising Sun", even though he knew his darker side closely, he remained at his side, joined shoulder to shoulder.

Sometimes they found themselves somewhere in the Iberian lands (on its beaches, in its fields, on its squares, in its streets), drinking juice, smoking and laughing at its own doom, times of the empire as far away as its colonies. They spent afternoons like this, together, far from any technology, watching the time pass, scattered conversations, and the maximum comfort and peace a country could have.

If they wished, they had dinner. If they wanted to, they would eat some bullshit and then fill their faces until dawn. If they wanted to, they had sex in every room of the house. If they wished, they would spend the night cuddling in bed until the roosters began to sing.

They still fought. They still exchanged punches. They still knew each other's weaknesses. But Antônio and Afonso knew: they couldn't be separated. They were practically united, they always were. Then out of every fight comes forgiveness, caring, love for each other, knowing the worst of each other and yet striving to make it worthwhile.

"Oh, that loose one. He owes me two chickens, cow hand." From afar, you can hear something about "tomato basket" and "puto imbecil", followed by two happy laughs.


End file.
